We go to a party
And everyone turns to see
This beautiful lady
Who’s walking around with me
And then she asks me
“Do you feel all right?”
And I say, “Yes, I feel wonderful tonight.”

I Feel Wonderful

We cut an impressive figure, Éowyn and I, and I am not ashamed to say so. We are both blessed with height and noble bearing, and a certain indefinable stature that marks us as the Lord and Lady of Ithilien. Perhaps encounters with the Witch King of Angmar leave their mark; perhaps the frost that touched us both lent us strength visible to others. I am not unhandsome, and my lady is the fairest that walks this earth.

Yes, we cut an impressive figure, Éowyn and I. I have always known this, therefore I am at a loss to explain why the fact that men stare as we go by surprises me. Even after we have paid our compliments to the King and Queen—in which it is expected that eyes will be upon us—they gaze. And it troubles me for reasons I know not.

I observe them carefully, those who gaze. But why do they not see that I am watching them as closely as they watch us? And I suddenly perceive with my clear sight that men stare, and that they stare at Éowyn.

Éowyn! My lady love, my wife? A surge of indignation threatens to overcome me completely. Even as I struggle to conquer my unruly emotions, I recognize a strange feeling I have not experienced for longer than I can remember—the bite of jealousy. I am by temperament a serene man, but to realize that others are, perhaps, nearly as smitten with my lovely wife as I am—I say nearly, for none could be in awe of her as I am—is an unpleasant revelation.

She smiles at me with the corner of her mouth, and I am suddenly ashamed by my selfishness. As if she were simply a prize to be jealously guarded! No, Éowyn was never such to me. She was once—is still—like a queen (and here I smile once more, recalling my words to her on that fateful day upon the walls of Minas Tirith) to my eyes, lovely, unapproachable, as far-off as a snow-capped mountain, who would delight me if only by bestowing a kind smile upon me.

And I am a lucky man, far luckier than any who loved her, or called her beautiful, or followed her with their eyes, as men still do. For she did not only smile at me, but married me, loved me.

And as I recall that she is my sun, I suddenly understand that I must share my light with others. The world would be a gloomy place indeed if the sun shone only in one area: unbearably hot in one location, darkness covering the rest of the earth. This discovery brings me such a feeling of peace that I am astonished I do not float up into the air, towards the vaulted ceiling.

All is right with the world once more—I even deign to smile at one of those who stare at my attractive wife. He immediately blushes and looks away.

Éowyn is looking at me strangely; perhaps she senses my peculiar mood, though she cannot understand how far I have traveled in these past few minutes, and how many revelations I have made.

“Are you quite well? Perhaps we should retire early…”

How can I explain to her how peaceful I feel, and how perfectly, palpably content I am to hear the concern in her voice? I say, simply, “No—I feel wonderful tonight.”

A/N: To my way of thinking, tonight is just a night of deep reflection for Faramir, causing him to act and even think in ways he wouldn't normally. If he was a woman, I'd compare it to being hormonal, LOL. So, if you say jealousy over men staring at Éowyn isn't like Faramir at all, you might be right-- except for this night.

Thanks for reading! A review would be lovely.

Edit: "Chandelier" changed to "vaulted ceiling" since, as someone was kind enough to point out, they probably didn't have chandeliers in Middle-Earth-- at least, not at that time.